


Bad Dreams and Bitter Words

by inusagi



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Angst, Insecurity, Jealousy, M/M, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-21
Updated: 2013-06-21
Packaged: 2017-12-15 16:19:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/851545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inusagi/pseuds/inusagi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack's been talking in his sleep. Oneshot. Complete.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Dreams and Bitter Words

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hatorl](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=hatorl).



> Disclaimer: I don’t own them. It’s very sad. So, don’t bring it up, okay?  
> A/N: I couldn’t decide whether to work on Another Secret (which I will get back to, I promise.) or do another oneshot tonight, so I took to Twitter! Yay! Hatorl, who is lovely, voted for oneshot. So here it is! Thanks for reading.

Ianto was agitated. I tried to wrack my brains to come up with a reason he’d be mad at me _this time_ , but I couldn’t come up with one. I hadn’t flirted with any waiters, shop girls or suspects, I hadn’t touched his coffee machine, I hadn’t taken Gwen’s side on anything recently, and to the best of my knowledge, all of my paperwork was completed.

I wondered if I was imagining things or taking it too personally—after all, Owen frequently pissed off my little Welshman. But no, this was definitely directed at me. I’ve been around long enough to recognize the headache caused by caffeine deprivation.

I wondered if dumping the decaf down the drain would make it worse.

Probably.

Biting the bullet, I wandered up to the tourist office. Ianto, in his sexy pinstripe suit, was organizing the brochures and pamphlets. It was relatively pointless. Before he and Gwen joined, we hadn’t even had any Welsh natives on staff in decades. We haven’t exactly had a reputation as reliable.

“Hey there, handsome.”

He looked at me without really looking at me. The stoic mask he’d worn when he’d first come to Cardiff fit his young face so perfectly, but I hated it. “I’m a bit busy, sir. Is there something you needed?”

“Yeah, for you to cut it out. Talk to me.”

“Alright. We need new brochures for the Millenium Centre. Ours are out of date. The sub-etheric resonator made Myfanwy ill. I found her unconscious on the floor this morning. Chocolate perked her right up. Janet—“ I cut him off by wrapping my arms around his middle.

“About you, Ianto. What’s wrong?”

He wiggled away and straightened his tie. “I’m fine, sir, and I’m working. If that’s all…?”

I was starting to get irritated. This petulant child act is not nearly as grown-up as Ianto seemed to think. “I can’t fix it if you don’t tell me what I did to upset you.”

I don’t know what I expected him to say but I was shocked when he looked me in the eye, not a trace of emotion on his face, and asked “Do you love me?”

Ianto waited just a beat before continuing. I don’t think he’d expected me to answer. “I feel like an idiot. I knew your reputation long before I came to the Cardiff branch. I’m starting to think everyone in Europe knows your reputation. But I let myself step right into your trap anyway. I allowed myself to be open and vulnerable and needy. I knew the whole time I’d never have your heart and now I’m hurt that I don’t. ”

I just gaped at him. “Where the hell is this coming from?”

He moved around the counter to his desk and fiddled with his cup of coffee—presumably not decaf. “You were talking in your sleep.”

I wanted to shout but that wouldn’t go over well at all. This was stupid and normally Ianto’s too rational for this kind of thing. “I don’t know what I said, but this is a little out of hand. It was just a dream. I could have been talking to the postman for all I know.”

Ianto sneered—actually _sneered_ —at me before putting on a genuinely horrible American accent. “Oh, Doctor, please. Come back. Don’t leave me, Doctor. I _need_ you, Doctor.”

I snapped. I knew, even as I did it, that I’d regret my bit of temper but I couldn’t help myself. I grabbed the nearest thing—his coffee mug—and launched it across the office. Still-hot coffee went everywhere, splattering the floor and soaking the pamphlets Ianto had just been straightening. Shards of porcelain scattered along the floor and crunched beneath my boots when I took a step towards his desk.

“That’s bullshit, Ianto Jones, and you know it. I can’t help what I dream any more than you can. I sleep far, _far_ less than you do. I’ve heard your dreams, your nightmares. Have I _even one time_ gotten pissy with you for calling out Lisa’s name? Telling her how much you love her? Asking her to _marry you_? Have I ever thrown a tantrum about your past or about the people you loved before you even met me?”

My stomach turned. I’d never meant to bring any of that up. Ianto was still grieving and I never wanted to get in the way of that, never wanted to make him feel guilty for still loving her when he was in my bed. But I couldn’t put the words back in my mouth.

It was, it seemed, his turn to gape and my turn to go on. “The Doctor left me on a satellite, out of my own time. I was the only survivor of a Dalek attack, but even that was wrong because I was dead. For the first time, I had been dead. I was confused and alone and terrified. I was the only person alive on a satellite with absolutely no hope of rescue. I searched that place for weeks—Weeks, Ianto!—until I found the information I needed for my wrist strap to get me out of there. So excuse the hell out of me if I still have nightmares.”

Ianto’s blue eyes were fixed to the coffee and porcelain on the floor. For the first time since the Cyberman incident, I felt the urge to punch him. He picked this fight, he mocked me and then he  didn’t have the courage to look me in the eye when I was talking to him.

“This is bullshit and I’ve had enough of it. You know how I feel about you, Ianto. I don’t care that we haven’t put it in words or in writing or whatever else your over-organized mind wants me to do to prove it to you, _you know how I feel_. We’ve been over all this before, about Gwen and the girl who rings up our groceries and the guy who changed the oil in your Audi. Nothing is as bad as it seems in your head!”

By the time I’d finished my rant, Ianto was next to me. I wanted to pull away and say something petty and unforgivable when he put his arms around me but I bit my tongue. I stood, stock still, for what felt like an eternity until I heard his quiet “I’m sorry, Jack.”

I allowed myself to return his embrace then but couldn’t stop the whispered “We can’t keep doing this, Ianto.”

“I know,” he said.

It was enough, for now. I had him in my arms and that was all I needed.

That and a large, industrial strength cup of coffee.


End file.
